He really didn't want to go, turning back every few steps, hoping Yaen Chi would call him back, but that man was cold as stone, mouth welded shut, just wouldn't say a word.
The pretty boy braced himself and asked the Assassin for a cigarette. The guy was generous, tossed him a whole pack.
Once it was in his hand, the pretty boy bolted back, scared that if he ran even a second slower his life would be left in that pile of enemies.
"Grandpa, here!"
Yaen Chi took the cigarettes, tore off the outer layer, ripped a slit at the corner, pulled out a stick, then habitually tapped the filter on the lid of the pack and flipped it, flicking the tip against the box.
Brother Yan had taught him that move.
